u. You were smooth-faced then. Let's
see,--'86, fall of '87, summer of '88,--yep, that's when. Summer of
'88 I come floatin' a raft out of Stewart River, loaded down with
quarters of moose an' strainin' to make the Lower Country 'fore they
went bad. Yep, an' down the Yukon you come, in a Linderman boat. An'
I was holdin' strong, ez it was Wednesday, an' my pardner ez it was
Friday, an' you put us straight--Sunday, I b'lieve it was. Yep,
Sunday. I declare! Nine years ago! And we swapped moose-steaks fer
flour an' bakin' soda, an'--an'--an' sugar! By the Jimcracky! I'm
glad to see you!"

He shoved out his hand and they shook again.

"Come an' see me," he invited, as he moved away. "I've a right tidy
little shack up on the hill, and another on Eldorado. Latch-string's
always out. Come an' see me, an' stay ez long ez you've a mind to.
Sorry to quit you cold, but I got to traipse down to the Opery House
and collect my taxes,--sugar. Miss Frona'll tell you."

"You are a surprise, Mr. St. Vincent." Frona switched back to the
point of interest, after briefly relating Harney's saccharine
difficulties. "The country must indeed have been a wilderness nine
years ago, and to think that you went through it at that early day! Do
tell me about it."

Gregory St. Vincent shrugged his shoulders, "There is very little to
tell. It was an ugly failure, filled with many things that are not
nice, and containing nothing of which to be proud."

"But do tell me, I enjoy such things. They seem closer and truer to
life than the ordinary every-day happenings. A failure, as you call
it, implies something attempted. What did you attempt?"

He noted her frank interest with satisfaction. "Well, if you will, I
can tell you in few words all there is to tell. I took the mad idea
into my head of breaking a new path around the world, and in the
interest of science and journalism, particularly journalism, I proposed
going through Alaska, crossing the Bering Straits on the ice, and
journeying to Europe by way of Northern Siberia. It was a splendid
undertaking, most of it being virgin ground, only I failed. I crossed
the Straits in good order, but came to grief in Eastern Siberia--all
because of Tamerlane is the excuse I have grown accustomed to making."

"A Ulysses!" Mrs. Schoville clapped her hands and joined them. "A
modern Ulysses! How romantic!"

"But not an Othello," Frona replied. "His tongue is a sluggard. He
lea